The Drumming Kitten
by WaterFront3000
Summary: An adventure about a teen looking for a full-time band and somewhat middle income. Part 1 of the "DUBZ" saga.


**Before anyone reads this, if you are a critic, please focus on the grammar because I'm taking this on a road where no one will understand. Please don't just say "It's bad. Fix it." Try to explain in some detail WHAT is wrong with the grammar.**

Headlight,

Headlight,

Headlight,

Turn.

The teenager memorized this pattern for days now. Seventeen days, to be exact, all without any luck. He had searched for god knows how long for a place to settle down at. New Mexico wasn't the most populated place these days, sadly.

He took another chance, taking the turn that bared no streetlights. The light was red but he was the only living being out driving at the time so it didn't cross his mind to wait.

He sighed. A 7-11 was just down the road. Its neon sign blinked every few moments, it for some reason, mesmerized him. Of course, it was more than likely his lack of sleep for two days straight.

He pulled up next to a pump while rummaging through his bag for his wallet. He had a tendency for losing important things these days. Once he found it (Along with all his change at the bottom of his bag,) he stepped out of his blue jeep. He bought it when he was fourteen, but was unable to drive till he turned sixteen.

He walked up to a billboard sitting by the door, rummaging through all the notes posted by random people. With great luck, he found one of interest.

'_Wanted: Drummer and Vocalist_

_Tolerance with an annoying short guy_

_Call the number below for more info'_

He took no hesitation in dialing up the number. He waited in anticipation for someone to actually pick up. It rang several times, before a 'click' could be heard along with a squeaky voice.

"What? Hello? Who the hell is this?"

"Um." The boy was lost. What was up with the voice?

"One second, **PUT IT DOWN!**" yelled the thing on the other line. "I know you like it, but **PUT IT DOWN! **

…**YES NOW!**"

"Hello?" said the teen, putting his ear back on his cellphone.

"What the hell do you want?!"

"U-uh, I'm calling about your flyer."

"What flyer? I don't own a flyer, nor do I have a child."

He thought it was a wrong number at first, but said, "You're looking for a drummer?"

"…Ohhhhh, _THAT_ flyer. Why? Is your kid one?"

"No I-I don't have a kid."

"Then why are you calling?"

"I'M the drummer." He pointed out, a bit annoyed.

"I don't think it matters." said the man on the other line, confusing the teen nonce more. "You got a name kid? Looks? Something so I'll know what you look like?"

"It's uh, Gumball, cat, blue fur and pants and a black jacket."

"Okay, my _acquaintance_ will meet you in the four corners. Give me a call when you get there."

"What?" asked Gumball, confused yet again he asked, "How do you-"

"I said the four corners. Are you deaf kid?"

"But wait, I'm on the south-western side of N.M. I can't afford to go there."

"Do you want the drummer position?"

He thought hard about it. He couldn't afford another mile, but then again, if he just gets there…

"Alright. I'll be there in two weeks."

"Yeah, I don't care when. Just call _when_ you get there."

"But wait, why do I-" there was a long beep on the other line. He sighed, shoving his phone back in his pocket.

At this point, he's open to anything. He started drumming at twelve when his dad got him (along with much protesting from his mother,) a drum set. It wasn't high end or anything special. Just a normal set with a tom, a snare, cymbal and a bass drum with a kick pedal. It looked cheap, but as they say (and his father said) "It's not about what you have; it's how you use it."

Boy oh boy, did he use it. He would set the set up in his backyard and bash away. The times when he played surprisingly good were his bad days. On weekends, he would take his set to a park and got some money out of it.

Months after he moved out, he searched far and wide for a band to tour with but never had any luck. His first was called "Quotation Quote" which disbanded after only a week. Another was "All out grind" but his energy overall didn't fit with the bands style. After joining many indie bands that never worked out, he was to the point of moving back home. That is, until now.

After buying necessities and gas, he headed out on the road once more. He pulled up a map on his phone, piecing out his route. He still carried his doubts but this time felt different. Like this one could work out.

He drove in the darkness of the night with a wary head, and a dream.

**Mah neck is backwards.**

**As I said, please focus on grammar. That is what I really need from this. But if you have something to say about the story itself, I guess that would be okay for now. Be honest.**

**The next chapter will be done when it gets done. Until then, goodbye from WF3K**


End file.
